


Jóga

by perihadion



Series: Shadowboxing [9]
Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Blindfolds, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, Mandalorian Kiss, absolutely on one about mono no aware lads, how is this less of a commitment than being married, i don't care if i go to hell i don't care if you go to hell, two soft-boiled eggs being soft-boiled eggs together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-24
Updated: 2020-01-24
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:27:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22379440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perihadion/pseuds/perihadion
Summary: Just Din and Cara working out their feelings in the wake of their not-breakup and not-makeup.
Relationships: Cara Dune/The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)
Series: Shadowboxing [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1599208
Comments: 49
Kudos: 181





	Jóga

_all that no one sees you see, what's inside of me_  
_every nerve that hurts you heal, deep inside of me_  
_you don't have to speak_  
— “Jóga”, Björk

*

Din leant against the frame of the doorway leading to the room Cara used for her training. He watched her run through her quarterstaff drills, feet skipping over the floor with uncharacteristic lightness. She executed her drill rapidly and flawlessly, although she wore a thick, black piece of cloth over her eyes, blinding her. When she reached the end of her drill she turned to Din, panting, and said, “Like what you see?”

“I didn't know you trained with the staff,” he said. “Or,” as she made to strike him, ending her swing an inch from his helmet and tilted her head with a cocky smile, “that you could be so restrained.”

“I trained as a child but I don't fight with it,” she said, reaching up to untie the blindfold.

He stepped forward and caught her hand. She tilted her head askance as he gently lowered her hand back to her side, but he said nothing. He took his helmet off and held it in one hand, using his free hand to pull her in for a kiss. He had no idea where they stood after the previous night but the desire to take what he could while he could was overwhelming. He bit her lower lip gently as she returned the kiss and ran his tongue over it. Then he pressed one more kiss to her mouth before replacing his helmet and, raising his hand to rub his thumb over her lips, said, “You can take it off now.”

“I didn't know you could be so ...unrestrained,” she said, pulling off the blindfold and running a hand through her hair. She was flushed and beautiful, and he liked to think that the workout wasn't the only thing which had left her breathless.

He swallowed, “That okay?”

She looked at him for a moment, confused, and bit her lip, nodding slowly. “Yeah,” she said. Then, “yeah,” again, more to herself this time. She propped the staff against the wall, and walked past him into the living space. He sighed and followed her in. The Child was sitting on the floor, sucking on his stuffed frog. Din crouched with some difficulty and gently took the toy from the Child's mouth, who looked up at him and lifted his arms. Din picked him up.

“I need to refuel, resupply,” he said to Cara, by way of breaking the silence.

She turned to look at him and shook her head, “No,” she said, annoyed. “You need to rest and stop walking around on that busted knee or it's never gonna heal.” He hadn't realised before that someone could blow so hot and so cold so many times in such a short period of time, and felt wrong-footed, unsure what to say or do. “Look,” Cara said, a little more softly, “just — I'll go and get some supplies. You can stay here and spend some quality time with your boy.”

*

When Cara returned the Child was sleeping. She made Din sit on the bed, took off his armour and cloak, and tugged his shirt off over his head. Although they had slept together many times she realised this was the first time she had ever _seen_ his unclothed body. He said nothing as she looked him over, taking in the familiar constellations of scars which she had felt but never seen, running her fingertips over them, the lithe form, the remarkable — in a way — softness of him. He had the body of a warrior, but he also had the body of a man.

He was badly bruised, and there was a set of cuts along his side where the beskar did not protect him which looked like something big had dragged a set of sharp claws through his flesh, tearing it apart. “Fuck,” she breathed, examining them.

“Like what you see?” he asked.

“Not especially,” she said, reaching for the bacta. “I told you,” she said, “you gotta take better care of yourself.”

“I'm not good at taking orders,” he said.

“Oh yeah?” she said, running her hand over the most tender-looking bruise and making him flinch, “I seem to remember a few occasions where you were more than happy to take orders.” She ran her fingers lightly over his chest, his stomach, and toyed with the waistband of his trousers.

“I thought you said I needed to rest,” he said.

She let her hand fall. “You know what Greef said to me?” she said. “He said —” she looked up at Din, suddenly vulnerable, and then away again with a shrug. “He told me we should get married.” She laughed but Din said nothing, only tilting his head. “Isn't that crazy?” she said.

“It is the second time you've brought it up,” he said.

“Just because —” she faltered, then said, “well, you know,” running a finger along the edge of his helmet. He took her hand and, to her surprise, guided it under the rim of his helmet so that he could press a kiss to each of her fingertips.

“I know,” he said, as she withdrew her hand, letting it fall to her side again.

“Nothing's really changed,” she said.

“It hasn't,” he agreed. She was about to say something else but before she could he put his hand at the base of her neck and pulled her in so that the forehead of his helmet was pressed against hers, and said, “But I still need you.”

Her heart was racing. She felt caught, restless. Because she had tried to live without him and that had not worked, and living with him would not work either. She wanted to tell him the truth, to bare her soul to him, but it was a precipice she couldn't bring herself to leap off. “It's not gonna work,” she said, shaking her head but not moving away. “Eventually we're gonna get to the point — you know. Just going down this path —”

“Let's just try this,” he said, and took her hand, placing it over his heart. “I have only done this once before.” She could feel his heart beat, and the slow rise and fall of his chest as he breathed in and out. “Close your eyes,” he said, his hand on her neck steady, holding her head to his. “Breathe in time with me.” The intimacy of what he was suggesting took her breath away, but she closed her eyes, and let the rise and fall of her hand guide her. He put his hand over her heart and she knew he had closed his eyes too.

In battle there was always a moment for Cara where things seemed to slow almost to a stop, and she could see exactly where she was and what to do; here, with Din, she felt the same way. All she felt was the low vibration of air rushing into his body, and the slowing of her own heartbeat. It felt as if all the colour and feeling of her life was contained in this moment where she was beating in time with him, and she knew whatever happened she couldn't let him go. It was too late for them; it had been too late for a long time.

“I don't know what's going to happen,” he said. “And I get scared. Really scared. About everything. What's going to happen to me, the kid. You.” The way he was talking, it seemed like maybe something was moving inside his head, like he was unlocking something at the end of a dark corridor inside himself. “I guess I just want —” he sighed, unable to find the words.

They sat in silence for a few moments, still breathing together, and Cara felt the blood rush in her ears. She remembered that she had once thought if only things were different, if they were different people, maybe they could have made things work between them; she realised now that things had worked out the only way they could have, that they were the people they had to be in order to fall in love. It was as if everything in her life had led her to this moment — and she felt that if this moment was all there was then it was enough.

It didn't matter what came next: if they ended up as mortal enemies, she didn't mind. She saw now how every choice she had made, however small it may have seemed at the time, was another step along the path which led her here. It was the only place she could have ended up, and she was the only person who could have got here. It was nothing so high-minded as fate; it was simply who she was, and who he was, and what they had chosen together, what they had created between them.

“It's not as if I just drifted here by chance,” he said, as if he were thinking the same thing, almost more to himself than to her. “And I know the odds are dire. But I made my choice.” She rubbed her forehead against his, gently, remembering what he had said about the beskar all those months ago. “Maybe,” he said, “maybe it just requires a leap of faith.” She felt herself nodding, just a little, without breaking contact. “A leap of faith,” he repeated to himself.

He let the hand at the back of her neck fall and she recognised what he was about to do. She pulled away and grabbed his hand to stop him, but he shook his head. “It's okay,” he said. “It's worth it.” Her hand was trembling, but she nodded and released him — and he removed his helmet.

It was a good face, she thought. Handsome, open. A little tired, with hair just a bit on the long side, and unkempt. But the overriding thought she had was that she might have gone for the rest of her life without seeing his eyes: big, and dark, and soft — and a little desperate. She raised her hand to run her fingers along his jaw and over his lips, and he took a deep breath. She realised now that she was bound to him forever: that whatever happened they were tied together by this moment, by this choice that he had made. And she knew that whatever he was feeling, for him, it surpassed everything, because he had made this irrevocable decision for it. And she was glad he had, even if it meant he lost himself forever, because for just a moment she was able to see his wide-open, expressive face which hid none of his interior life from her. She kissed him — a real kiss, on the mouth.

He put his hand to the back of her neck again and pulled her into him. He kissed her as if he had never kissed or been kissed before, as if this was the first time he had ever let himself be as unrestrained as he wanted, as if this was the first time he let anyone feel all the colour and feeling inside him — and it was, she knew that. He kissed her as if he was trying to imbue this one kiss with everything he was and all that he had ever been. He kissed her as if he could tell her everything he wanted just by kissing her, and she let him.

It didn't matter what came next, or that this moment would pass and be lost forever. What it meant, what it changed. Nothing mattered, and everything mattered, as he pressed her into the bed. They would pass through the forge of this moment and be changed but not undone. It was nothing, and it was everything.

**Author's Note:**

> When I was writing this I did not plan to have Din take off his helmet, but I got to the point where he said they needed to take a leap of faith, and had this immediate reaction of, "fuck it, helmet comes off" and decided to just go with it.
> 
> Come say hi on [twitter](http://twitter.com/theoceanblooms) or [tumblr](http://spectroscopes.tumblr.com)! If you really liked this fic, it would be lovely if you could [reblog](https://www.tumblr.com/reblog/190431126919/Uwh7Y9z3) on tumblr.


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